Boat To Hell
by Taco Box
Summary: Nova is a prisoner of war, caught by the Russians in an ambush. Trapped on an island, she is forced to become allies with an enemy of the state, Ivan Braginski, in order to survive. As their trust is tried, what she had been taught and what she learns slowly contradict each other. Maybe the Russians aren't that bad. (RussiaxOC, Skyfire101's challenge fic)


_They got me,_ She thought to herself. She reached across and gently touched her leg. A wave of pain coursed through her.

She had been running with her troop towards a Russian warehouse, when they had been ambushed. Luckily, they had only shot her leg. The man next to her had not been so lucky. He had been shot in the head, death at once most likely. Maybe, he was more lucky then her. If she was found, the enemy would surely send her off to the workshops, and anyone would rather be dead then go through that... at least she would.

The gunfire at last stopped, but she wouldn't know it. She only heard the ringing in her ears.

A person came up to her, and kicked her right in the gut, shouting something at her. She curled up in pain and the person yelled something to someone else, then dragged her up, hauling her away.

And thus, she became a prisoner of war.

* * *

_Observe your surroundings..._

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Sure, she had smelled some very disgusting things throughout her life, but this was on a whole different level. And she couldn't get away from it. It overpowered everything else and surrounded her. She couldn't see anything, but by the way the floor shifted back and forth, she figured she was on a boat. She heard mumbling, and as she listened closer, the more the mumbling didn't make sense. A few people coughed and hacked.

A hatch from the ceiling opened and she squinted, her eyes not being used to the dark. Food was thrown down, and people swarmed to get some. She tried to get over to get some, but a pain shot up her leg, reminding her that she was shot.

_Take notice of everything..._

The way people fought to get food meant that food was limited. She would have to fight harder to get something next time. The smell meant no running water was available, or was too precious. And sickness. Sick people always had this certain smell about them, and would explain the coughing.

She retreated to a corner, or what she thought to be a corner, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Light shone through cracks in the ceiling. Cheaply made. The ship lurched and someone was thrown basically onto her. She shoved him away.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Another American.

"Don't apologize, just tell me, do you know where this ship is headed to." Maybe he would know.

He thought for a moment and replied, "The workshops."_  
_

She sighed and cursed, meanwhile the man walked away to go talk to some of his lads.

* * *

The ship seemed to sail for months, but she wouldn't know, for she had no sense of time. Her wound festered and soon began to emit a nasty smell and pus. She did what she could to clean it, but with no proper rubbing alcohol, or a medic, she couldn't do anything. She had been trained to fight, not nurse a bullet wound.

It didn't help that most of the time, she couldn't get any food before it was gone. Soon enough, lack of food would kill her, as it did to most of people.

By the time the storm hit, more than half the people were dead. The survivors piled them up in a corner, and stayed on the other half of the room, but still the smell was horrific.

(She hated to admit it, but the more people dead the better. More food for her.)

The storm was devasting. The thunder shook the whole ship to the core. Men on deck scurried around to prepare the ship, but it was too late. Waves ripped away the wood, leaving a big gaping hole for water to pour in, and the ship began to sink down to the ocean floor.

But not before most of its passengers abandoning ship.

The prisoners didn't know the ship was sinking until water seeped up through the cracks in the floor. They started beating the walls with whatever they could find, some trying to climb up the hatch.

She just sat there, watching everything, pondering what to do. Her mind wasn't as sharp as it once was.

_Don't over-think it..._

Of course. There must be a ladder somewhere. That was the most logical thing she could think of at the moment. The water was up to waist when she finally found it, and rising fast. Most everyone else had given up and were in groups praying if they were religious. The one's who had no God to speak of gathered in their own groups and remembered the good times.

Someone noticed she had a ladder and wadded over to her, saying something that sounded French. She just looked at him and said "What." stupidly.

He looked frustrated at her and gestured to the ladder, then to the ceiling, then to him and her. He wanted to help her. If she read his gestures right.

She nodded and propped up the ladder for him, as he walked up and pushed open the hatch, then climbed out. She started to climb up as well, but by then people had noticed, and pushed her out of the way, wanting to save themselves.

She tried to push back towards it, but they more people shoved past her and towards the ladder. They all piled up on the ladder. All of them.

The ladder's wood groaned in protest, and splintered. falling to the ground. Only five of them were left, and people started climbing on others, to get closer to the opening. Their most primal instincts taking over to survive. The water was up to her armpits.

There was an old man to the left of her. He looked sadly at the opening and at her.

"Go live." he whispered to her in a raspy voice as he picked her up, and lifted her towards the opening, surprisingly strong. She gasped in surprise, and gripped the edge. It took all of her strength to pull herself up.

When she was on top. she looked back down and offered a hand to the old man, but he had disappeared.

She frowned, then turned around and ran towards the edge of the ship, launching herself off deck.

When she hit the water, the first thing she looked for was a piece of wood to drift on. But alas, there were none.

_Don't panic..._

She didn't really have a choice. Just choose a direction and swim, hopefully she would reach land before her muscles failed her and she sank. She looked at the way the ship's bow was pointing, and decided that was her best bet.

Doggie paddling, she swam, hopefully, towards land.

When her hands touched land, she dragged herself the rest of the way, and passed out on the land.

The last thing she smelled was grass.

* * *

Yay~ First chapter. This is the product of skyfire101's challenge thing. Go thank her for the story XP Incase you didn't see in the summary, this is a RussiaxOC fic, which takes place in an alternative world to our own. Modern. More shall be explained next chapter... ~


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